#impulse from elsewhere

[impulsesvdoodles]

thanks for the doodle @stiffyck!!

[soracities]

if we should protect children because they are vunerable, this means you would protect cruel children who bullies people who different than them then. the children who responsible to trauma for someone else's entire years

You're assuming that "protecting" children is the same as absolving them of responsibility and that's not what I said. All children are vulnerable, because all children are children; they don't come out of the womb with a perfectly working moral compass anymore than they come out of it waiting to hurt people--they're vulnerable because their understanding of the world is entirely at the mercy of what we, as adults, consistently tell them and show them. Children behaving cruelly aren't exempt from that--they learn that cruelty from somewhere, or someone. Your job, as the adult, is to make sure they understand that it's unacceptable so it will not happen again--but your job is also to ask why someone that young is behaving this way to begin with, so you can ensure they become better.

"Protecting" kids is not ignoring when they hurt or torment others, it's not refusing to teach them consequences or right from wrong, it's not "zero tolerance" policies in schools that treat a child being bullied and the child bullying them as equal instigators, and it's certainly not protecting them from recognizing, and atoning for, the pain they have caused someone else. You don't have to make peace with the now-adults who hurt you when you both were kids, but you cannot let the horrors of your own childhood impact how you treat or respond to the children living theirs around you right now, either.

You don't protect kids so they can get a free pass for bullying or tormenting another child. You protect them because kids are impulsive, emotionally reactive, and profoundly social (which means deeply impressionable) human beings who are still learning & processing insane amounts of information every day about what it means to be alive, to be alive as yourself, to be alive as yourself with other people. Protecting them is realising that you can't isolate the responsibility of a 10 year old from the bigger responsibility of the literal grown adults around them, adults who are in charge of teaching them about the world and how to behave in it. Whether you have children of your own in the future or not is completely irrelevant to this; we all become those adults eventually--no matter what happened to us as kids.

[laikathestar]

this is what happens in my mind whenever i see an apparatus in lethal company.

[connabeth]

the liberty annabeth has been given to be deeply unserious and true to her character in the new “pjo” books while being deprived of that aspect of her character elsewhere is so personal to me because what do you mean she wants to duet with percy on shallow, cheerfully bon voyages her boyfriend off a cliff, carries around a backpack of mystery mouskatools including herbal tea and snake treats just in case, instructs percy “don’t stop skipping, skippy” when he has the rainbow staff for absolutely no other reason aside from shits and giggles, breaks into his bedroom for no reason besides the fact that she simply likes the challenge, apparently regularly signs autographs and is fawned over up on olympus, and keeps suggesting cute and dumb shit to get magically scribed into percy’s diy college rec letter. and now she’s giggling with her architecture friends about glass and marshmallows and wants to throw a haunted house party in a scary goddess’s mansion (a goddess scary enough to make her boyfriend literally piss his boxers) because she’s too self-assured to believe they can’t evade the consequences and too excited to experience something she’s never gotten to throughout her childhood and adolescence. not to mention the callback to her love of animals, no matter how demonic, and how she misses playing fetch with cerberus…oh annabeth chase, the woman that you are. like yes let her be impulsive and unserious and excited and batshit and a troll because she’s just a girl trying to have fun in a miserable fucking world godammit!! rick riordan, they could never make me like you, but i’ll give you this one thing—the whimsy has been restored and its name is annabeth chase

[diserbillyti]

Autism can actually affect somebody's understanding of consent.

Or rather, the social circumstances and lack of education people with profound autism are subjected to often results in a severely lacking understanding of consent.

I've been a disability educator on and off for most of my adult life. I've worked primarily with adults between 18 - 25, mostly men, in contexts that I believe your standard "well I'm autistic and I don't ever [problematic behaviour]" poster isn't even aware exist, because those are not contexts such people have ever had to be in.

A considerable part of my job was just having talks about consent with my students.

Many, many autistic people, that is the flavour of autistic people who were identified as autistic from childhood and raised in SPED or adjacent contexts, have spent their whole lives being infantilized and segregated from the outside world. Many of them have always been assumed to be "children in adult bodies." As a result, many of them have never had any meaninful sex education, especially not as relates to consent, beyond "if a stranger touches you in the vagina that's nnnnnno good."

There is a stigma around teaching them about sex and consent for fear of being labelled as a sexual predator, inflicting some kind of harm on the individual, or inspiring them to imitate what you've taught them about. If they are "children in adult bodies," well, children don't have sexual desires and sex in a context with children is always bad, so why would I teach this 19 year old man with descended testicles and adult hormones and shit about all that - he has babybrain, after all.

I had one student, a 22 year old man, who was hugging his psychologist in sessions with her so that he could feel her breasts against his chest. When he told me this, we had a consent talk. As he understood it, it only would've hurt her if she knew about it, but see, she thought it was just hugging and they'd always hugged even when he was a child, so unless she could read minds she'd have no way of knowing he was getting off on it. It took a few weeks and genuine social dev. exercises for him to understand beyond some kind of basic social rule of "don't do that" - and it's important for him to have that broader understanding so that he doesn't replicate the same problems elsewhere, ie. staring at women because "they can't see me staring and if they don't know it doesn't hurt them."

He's someone who 1. is disabled in a way that makes empathy and abstract reason difficult, and 2. has never been treated as having the potential to either have sexual thoughts or conduct himself in a sexually healthy way.

This kind of thing is exceedingly common. I've worked with men and women who masturbate in public because they do not have impulse control and do not understand that doing so can harm the people around them. After all, "I'm not touching anybody." I've worked with men and women who would discuss sex and pornography constantly regardless of social context because that is what they were presently obsessed with, and they lacked the ability to self-regulate. Superwholock was my Vietnam.

Basically, I've been in all kinds of complicated situations surroundinf disabled peoples' sexuality that indicate the severe lack of education that they receive, due to the norm of infantilisation.

I have also, and this is important, worked with dozens and dozens of disabled victims of sexual abuse.

If I were silly enough to think my subjective experience was representative of a universal truth, I'd say that 80% of intellectually disabled people have been sexually abused at some point or another. I have had so many disclosure experiences it is honestly maddening.

Many times students would just tell me things that happened to them during consent talks. It'd usually follow a stucture of,

"Touching someone's penis without asking first is wrong, because even if it makes us feel good, it can hurt them. Hurting people is wrong."

"But [person] touched my penis without asking and it didn't hurt."

That's seriously all it would take to discover half the time.

I'd disclose this to their caregiver, who would often be shocked and go through the motions of my gosh but I never thought I never suspected I never knew but golly it makes so much sense and that's why X, Y and Z happened and and and

All because there is such a social stigma around engaging with the reality that yes, actually, sex is part of the reality that disabled people inhabit, and just because you're reading them as an asexual child does not mean they are one.

I say all of this because every time a Problematic Man does some nonsense and plays neurodivergence as a defense, a legion of the most annoying level one autistic people look to protect the perception that they are ostensibly able-bodied by saying

"Well as an autistic man, I know what consent is."

Good for you, Mark! But a lot of people like us don't! And it leads to the most fucked up problems you've never had to deal with! But I do have to deal with them and if that remains the case for much longer, I'm going to become the fucking Joker!

The better response is: Neil Gaiman is not the kind of autistic person that doesn't know what consent is, or might misread signals like that. That he spent years covering up and lying about it indicates that he understands it was wrong, and that he would face consequences if discovered. His behaviour after being discovered also suggests the same. Additionally, we can see a clear understanding of consent in both his fiction and statements he has made previously. He is attempting to use autism as a cover, and in so doing, making the world more dangerous for the portion of autistic people who might really struggle to understand consent.

[fairlyabookie]

the things you do that got them head over heels

Ace - teasing him back

Ace had a knack for teasing you, even if his little banter would be light-hearted in nature, he wasn’t shy about using a little incident into a sassy remark. To him, the bickering you exchange meant that he found someone worth his while, who can match his wavelength so to speak.

You’d get flustered with his quips, a little smirk tugging at your lips as if to mask your indignant state. He’d declare himself a victor in the chaos, basking in the glory of your demise.

Unfortunately for him, you knew him well - well enough to ascertain his weaknesses. In due time, you say a smart quip, one that left him incredulous. He short circuits, rendered speechless until a second passes, his mind locked into getting you back - but he has nothing, save for a profound heat rushing up his cheeks.

“What the hell, man?” He says with a light chuckle, his smile betraying his astonishment. For a cheeky guy like him, you found his reaction priceless, your laughter delayed for a beat or two.

Sebek - your focused expression

The both of you study together in the quiet library, the faint rustling of turning pages and scribbling pens on paper filling the silence. His watchful eyes peer on your profile, your posture and expression serene in the guise of studying.

Unaware of his gaze, your mind was elsewhere, intent on memorizing acronyms for a quiz you needed to make the perfect score for, dates of historical events that you might forget, and incantations for spells that could probably save your life. Troubled as you were, your lips curl to a pout as you take note of the subjects you had to study for.

Sebek found this particular side of you amusing - adorable he can admit - but charming as you had to voice out your woes about the difficult subjects that suddenly crowded your study schedule. How your features scrunched up to one of intense concentration tugged his heartstrings.

“What?” Your question breaks the impenetrable silence of the library, a curious look listing your features. Sebek shakes his head, already adapting nonchalance. “It’s nothing.” You perk an eyebrow, your gaze lingering onto your classmate for a beat longer before returning to a page full of notes.

Epel - the way you do your routine

Makeup routine was vital to a Pomefiore resident’s daily tasks for discipline and perfection; a flawless skincare routine followed by a makeup routine that screamed a meticulousness befitting of the dorm’s ideals. You had fit the dorm to the T, waking up every morning to do your skincare routine and makeup routine, achieving praise from your dormmates.

Although Epel was initially annoyed by this tedious routine, he managed to tolerate everything from just one person: you. There was something seamless about you lathering toner all over your features, your gaze fixated on the vanity before you as you pinpoint any imperfection from your routine. It was like honing a muscle, your movements rehearsed as you reached out to a bottle of moisturizer from your cabinet.

The unhurried yet intentional fluidity made your routine so painless, so fruitful, so.. Who was he kidding? Even with his cherubic looks, he could easily use 3 products instead of 10. As he begins his routine, he engraves your intense expression in mind - your hands applying every cream and serum in sight for flawless skin.

“You need help, Epel?” You give pause, droplets of water dripping from your palms, your cheeks white from cleanser. “Sorry, spaced out-” Epel hastily replies, averting his gaze elsewhere that was not your vanity. He sneaks another glance at you, your face a glistening sheen from the cleanser’s work. An impulsive thought intrudes his conscience, one that ignited his spirit to do better.

Jack - stretching

There was nothing a short jog could do to start the morning. Rays of sunlight streak across the horizon in swathes of orange and yellow, his eye catches on your side profile, silhouetted by the morning light. Basking in the sunlight, you take a moment to stretch your muscles, the cotton fabric of your shirt lifting just a smidge to reveal a slither of your figure.

Jack tried his best not to steal a glance; besides, this was an innocent maneuver after a while of exercise, of course, you’d take a moment to stretch. Yet, his eyes flicker back to your figure, watching you work out the knots and muscles with grace.

There was something about the morning hour and the minutes after exercising; the way your hair would cling onto your forehead, your flushed cheeks, and the exhilarated smile gracing your lips, the morning sun illuminating your physique in a flattering light. A prick of heat rushes up to his cheeks, his tail wagging back and forth.

“Jack, your tail is wagging!” You let out a chuckle, a hand itching forward to ruffle his head. Betrayed by the appendage, he quickly grabs it, his eyes aligning with yours. “It didn’t,” He mutters sheepishly. You regard the comment with a perked eyebrow. “Well then, I’m feeling a little energetic, let’s say we do one more lap before class?” Jack couldn’t agree more, preparing his stance for another moment of exercise.

Deuce - fixing up your hair

There was something particular in how you’d fix up your hair in a matter of seconds, whether it was a quick ruffle or brushing your locks. He’d catch himself lose his breath when you pause to adjust your locks, your fingers brushing them back to an angle, a sigh escaping your lips.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off you, watching your fingers tussle your locks effortlessly, a bit of the skyline catching on your silhouette oh-so-beautifully. For a moment, he could fathom his cheeks heat up; he shouldn’t be looking at you. A second longer and you would’ve caught him staring.

He hears the world stop, his heart rate accelerating as he catches a glimpse of you shifting your hair to one that you favored. His throat runs dry, a gulp not enough to quench his parched throat from the sight of you. Any second longer, his demeanor would be thrown off completely. The young man attempts to quell his heart, just enough to recover himself.

“Hey Deuce, let’s get going.” You call to him, your voice anchoring him back to reality. “R-r-right.” Your classmate clears his throat, a feeble attempt at normalcy. He steps ahead of you, hoping to mask the blush coloring his cheeks.

author's note: happy white day, everyone! i got inspired by this little post I had read from my little hyperfixation and lo and behold! Hope you enjoyed, and please feel free to like!

[rafecameronssl4t]

hiii, i was wondering for the rafe tennis au if u could make a story based on the “he just comes running over to me sound.” it’s basically just based on the pole vaulter running straight to his gf right after winning, everyone is taking pics of the moment and trying to congratulate him but he’s only focused on gf!reader.

Running over to me || Tennis player!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: I love Desiré and Mondo sm 😭😭😭

Warnings: none :)

Word count: 861

MASTERLIST (tennis player!rafe au masterlist)

The ball skimmed over the net, spinning wildly as it bounced just inside the line. His opponent lunged, reaching for a desperate return, but the shot sailed long. The crowd roared, a tidal wave of sound crashing over the court as Rafe Cameron fell to his knees, clutching his tennis racquet in both hands.

Sweat dripped from his brow, mixing with the tears he couldn’t hold back. He’d done it. He’d won Wimbledon. His opponent, Alex De Minaur, stood at the net, waiting for the traditional handshake. But Rafe’s mind was elsewhere. His eyes scanned the crowd feverishly until they landed on you, you were in his players’ box.

You were on your fee clapping, tears streaming down your face as you beamed at him. Rafe didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t care about the protocol or the cameras capturing every moment. He dropped his racquet and sprinted across the court, his long legs carrying him faster than seemed possible after hours of grueling play.

Gasps and cheers erupted as he leapt over the barrier separating the court from the players’ box.“Rafe!” you cried, barely audible over the cheers, but he heard you. He always did. In a heartbeat, he was there, arms wrapping around you so tightly you could hardly breathe. His chest heaved against yours as he lifted you off your feet, spinning you in a circle.

The world blurred around you, the crowd’s noise fading to a dull hum as his lips found yours. The kiss was desperate, almost frantic, as though he needed to reassure himself that this moment was real. His hands cradled your face, thumbs brushing away your tears as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes.

“I did it,” he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. “I did it, baby.” “You did, Rafe,” you choked out, your voice thick with pride and love. “I’m so proud of you.” He kissed you again, softer this time, as if savouring the moment. Around you, the cameras clicked and flashed incessantly, capturing every angle of your embrace.

The world watched as Rafe Cameron, the newly crowned champion of Wimbledon, poured every ounce of emotion into the kiss. The broadcasters’ commentary shifted from his monumental victory to the passionate celebration unfolding court-side. Fans were on their feet, phones held high as they recorded the embrace that was already destined to go viral.

“Rafe, the handshake,” you murmured against his lips, your hands gently pushing against his chest. But he didn’t let go. “It can wait,” he muttered, his forehead pressing against yours. “No, it can’t,” you insisted, though your smile betrayed how much you adored his impulsiveness. “Go. This is your moment. I’ll be right here.”

With great reluctance, he released you, brushing a final kiss across your forehead before turning back toward the net. Alex had an amused yet understanding look, extending his hand as Rafe approached. “Sorry, man,” Rafe said, gripping his hand firmly. “Got a little carried away.”

“Would’ve done the same,” Alex opponent replied with a laugh, patting Rafe on the back. The applause intensified as Rafe turned to acknowledge the crowd, raising his arms triumphantly. But even as he basked in the glory, his eyes sought you out again. You stood where he’d left you, your hands clasped over your heart, smiling through tears.

The presenters were waiting, trophy in hand, but Rafe took a moment to jog back to you. He reached out, pulling you under the rope separating the court from the stands. “You’re coming with me,” he said, lacing his fingers with yours. “Rafe, I can’t—” “Yes, you can.” And just like that, you were by his side as he accepted the gilded trophy.

His speech was heartfelt but brief, the first words out of his mouth a dedication to you. “This isn’t just my victory,” he said, his voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions. “It’s ours. You’ve been my rock, my inspiration, and my reason to fight through every setback. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

The crowd erupted again, and as you stood there, hands wrapped around his waist, you realised this was more than just a victory for Rafe. It was a moment that symbolised everything the two of you had built together. As the cameras continued to flash, Rafe leaned down, whispering in your ear, “Guess we’re the headline now.” You laughed, shaking your head.

“You are. I’m just the emotional girlfriend who can’t stop crying.” “You’re my everything,” he corrected. And in that moment, standing on the most iconic court in tennis, you knew he meant every word.

[poiibbtt]

The Space Between Us

Pairing: Howl Pendragon x Reader (You)

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: -2,500 words

Synopsis: After feeling like an outsider in Howl’s castle, you decide to leave and start a new life elsewhere. When Howl finds you after weeks of searching, unresolved feelings and deep conversations arise, forcing you to choose between your new life and the one you left behind.

The atmosphere in the castle had shifted. At first, it was subtle—small things you could shrug off. But as days passed, the feeling of being on the outside grew heavier.

Calcifer’s crackling laughter filled the hearth as he teased Markl about some spell gone wrong, their playful banter echoing through the kitchen. Sophie would often flit in and out, her smile bright as she checked on Howl or helped Markl with his studies. Everything seemed to fit perfectly—like they had become this seamless family. And then, there was you, standing in the corner, watching it all unfold.

You stirred the soup absentmindedly, your mind miles away. Every laugh that wasn’t shared with you, every whispered conversation you weren’t part of, felt like another wall going up between you and them. It was a ridiculous feeling—this was their home, and you had chosen to be here. But lately, it felt like you were nothing more than a guest overstaying your welcome.

You wanted to join in, to feel like you belonged, but every time you opened your mouth, you felt out of place. It seemed so effortless for them. Howl and Sophie had a natural rhythm, their bond evident in the smallest gestures. Calcifer adored Sophie, and Markl looked up to Howl as if he were his world. Where did that leave you?

In the kitchen, the feeling of distance only grew. You caught the way Howl looked at Sophie—there was a fondness there, but not in the way that cut deeply. No, that wasn’t the source of your jealousy. It was the way he gravitated toward her, how easily they laughed together, how it felt like they shared a world you weren’t a part of. You were simply… there.

There was no resolution that night. No sudden gesture or words of comfort from Howl or anyone else. The tension in your chest remained as you ate in silence, your thoughts louder than any conversation happening at the table. As the evening went on, you excused yourself early, retreating to your room with a heaviness that refused to lift.

That’s when the idea started to form—leaving. It wasn’t impulsive; it had been brewing in your mind for some time now. You were tired of feeling like an outsider in the place that was supposed to be your home.

One night, when everyone was asleep, you began packing in silence. Your hands shook slightly as you folded your clothes, but your heart was resolute. You couldn’t stay here any longer. The moving castle wasn’t where you belonged. Not anymore.

Calcifer had been suspicious for days, his flames dimming every time you walked by. He’d asked if you were alright, but you only smiled at him, saying you were fine. But now, as your bag was halfway full, Calcifer noticed. His flames flickered in a nervous dance.

"You’re really going to leave, aren’t you?" His voice crackled quietly, barely more than a whisper of fire.

You paused, feeling guilt twist in your gut. "It’s better this way, Calcifer. I don’t belong here anymore."

"That’s not true," he protested, his flames flaring brighter. "You’re part of this place, part of us."

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak. If you stayed a moment longer, you’d break. You’d crumble under the weight of their kindness and the hope that things could somehow go back to how they were before Sophie arrived.

Markl must have overheard the quiet exchange, for suddenly, there was a knock on your door, and his small figure appeared in the doorway, his wide eyes filled with hurt. "Y/N… don’t go."

Tears pricked at the back of your eyes, but you forced a smile. "I have to, Markl. You’re all going to be okay without me."

"But I’m not okay without you," he argued, his voice cracking with emotion.

You crossed the room and knelt down, cupping his face with one hand. "You’ll be fine, Markl. Howl and Sophie… they’ll take care of you."

He didn’t look convinced, and his lower lip trembled. "What about you? Who’s going to take care of you?"

That nearly broke you, but you swallowed the lump in your throat and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "I’ll be alright. I promise."

The next morning, you were gone.

Calcifer and Markl felt it immediately—the absence was like a gaping hole in the castle. When Howl and Sophie woke to find your room empty, an eerie silence settled over them all. Howl was the first to speak, his voice low and filled with disbelief.

"She’s gone," he murmured, his hand clenched tightly around the back of a chair. "Why didn’t I see it coming?"

Markl’s tears spilled over, and Calcifer’s flames dimmed with guilt, both of them feeling as if they had somehow failed to stop you.

Howl’s usual calm was nowhere to be found as he paced the length of the room, his frustration mounting. "Why didn’t she say anything?"

Sophie stood quietly, her eyes soft with understanding. She didn’t need to say anything. She knew the quiet hurt that had been growing in you for weeks.

"I’ll find her," Howl said, his voice hard with determination. "I’ll bring her back."

Without waiting for an answer, Howl set out, Markl at his side, the two of them scouring the nearby towns. Days turned into weeks with no sign of you. It was as if you had vanished without a trace.

Howl’s heart slammed in his chest as he neared the entrance of the small, homely restaurant. He had been searching for so long that he almost couldn’t believe it when he saw you standing there, your hair tied back in a loose bun, an apron slung over your shoulders. The morning fog drifted lazily around the quiet town, but all he could focus on was you.

There you were—alive and seemingly content.

He stepped forward, his breath caught in his throat. You turned around at the sound of his approach, and your eyes met his. For a brief second, the world around you both seemed to blur, leaving only the two of you.

"Y/N..." His voice was soft, filled with a mixture of disbelief and relief.

You froze, your chest tightening as you took in the sight of him. Howl, disheveled and tired, his eyes searching yours with a vulnerability you rarely saw from him. It was clear that he had been looking for you for a long time, but you didn’t move. You didn’t speak. You simply stared at him, your heart conflicted between the life you had built and the one you had left behind.

"You found me," you finally said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Howl stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I never stopped looking."

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The tension between you was palpable, and you could feel your heart race as his presence stirred old feelings you had tried to bury.

"Why did you leave?" Howl’s voice cracked with emotion, his expression raw. "You didn’t even give me a chance to—"

"Because I didn’t belong there," you interrupted, your tone sharper than you intended. "Everyone fit together so perfectly—Sophie, Markl, even Calcifer. They all have their place with you. But me? I was just... there. Watching from the sidelines."

Howl frowned, his brows furrowing in confusion. "You were never just watching, Y/N. You’ve always been part of us. I never meant to—"

"You never meant to," you repeated with a bitter laugh, stepping back from him. "I know. But it doesn’t change the fact that I felt like I was slowly disappearing in that castle. You and Sophie… you two—"

Howl’s eyes widened as he quickly shook his head. "It’s not like that. Sophie and I—she’s not—"

"Stop," you said, holding up your hand to cut him off. "I’m not asking for an explanation. I’m not blaming her either. But I saw how well she fit into your life, into the castle, into everything you and Markl and Calcifer had built. And I just… didn’t."

The words hurt to say out loud, but it was the truth you had been holding onto for so long. The truth that made you leave.

Howl took another step forward, his hand reaching for yours, but you pulled back before he could touch you. His face fell, frustration and helplessness washing over him. "Please. Come back with me. We can fix this."

You shook your head, your heart clenching painfully. "I can’t, Howl. I can’t go back to feeling like I’m always on the outside, like I’m always chasing after something that’s just out of reach."

He looked at you, eyes pleading. "But I need you. I didn’t realize how much until you were gone. You belong with us—with me."

Your chest tightened at his words, but you forced yourself to stay firm. "You don’t need me, Howl. You have Sophie. You have your family."

Howl’s frustration bubbled to the surface as he ran a hand through his messy hair, his voice strained. "This isn’t about Sophie. It’s about us. It’s about what I want. And I want you to come home."

His words struck a chord in you, but you were resolute. Home. That word didn’t mean the same thing to you anymore. This restaurant, this small town—it was starting to feel more like home than the castle ever had. Here, you were your own person. You were building a life for yourself that didn’t revolve around fitting into someone else’s world.

"I am home," you said softly, your eyes locking with his. "I’ve found something here, Howl. I’ve found something that’s mine."

He stared at you, disbelief and hurt clouding his expression. "So, that’s it? You’re choosing this place over us? Over me?"

Your heart ached at the pain in his voice, but you held your ground. "I’m choosing what’s best for me. And right now, that means staying here."

For a long moment, Howl stood in silence, his face a mixture of anger, confusion, and something deeper—something that mirrored the ache in your own heart.

He looked like he wanted to argue, to say something that would change your mind. But he didn’t. He didn’t have the words. Instead, he let out a sharp breath and took a step back, the distance between you feeling wider than ever.

"Fine," he muttered, his jaw tight. "But don’t expect me to stop trying."

You watched as he turned on his heel, his cloak billowing behind him as he walked away, disappearing into the morning fog. The weight of his absence settled heavily in your chest, but you didn’t chase after him.

This time, you were choosing yourself.

Days passed, and though Howl’s visit haunted your thoughts, you carried on with your life in the town. The restaurant became your sanctuary, and the steady rhythm of your days provided a comfort you hadn’t realized you needed. You had carved out a space for yourself here, and while there were moments of doubt, you knew in your heart that you had made the right decision.

Calcifer’s warmth and Markl’s laughter still echoed in your memories, but they felt distant now—like a past you had gently set aside.

And then, every so often, when you least expected it, you would catch sight of a familiar shadow in the distance. You would feel the pull of magic in the air—the faintest trace of Howl’s presence lingering, watching from afar.

But he didn’t come any closer.

And neither did you.

You both had made your choices.

[genderkoolaid]

this is a genuine question-- not trying to bait. you seem reasonable and knowledgeable and opinionated about lots of issues.

what's your opinion/ stance on paraphilias? how do you see the distinctions between "kink" "fetish" and "paraphilia"? and any other takes you have about "harmful" paraphilias that you don't see discussed often, etc.

Some general thoughts on the topic:

I am strongly against the idea of thoughts or feelings alone bearing moral weight. I think the idea that they do does far more harm than good, as it puts pressure on people to micromanage their internal experiences through shame, and that prevents them from being able to have a calm and reasonable understanding of their own thoughts and feelings. When you aren't afraid of having thoughts or feelings, it is much easier to identify how they influence and make choices accordingly.

All of these categories are made up by people, so I don't think there necessarily are distinctions. IIRC "paraphilia" is a specifically psychiatric term. As people have discussed elsewhere, what is considered normal sexuality vs abnormal sexuality varies heavily across cultures, and I'm not super concerned with making a clear cut distinction for every experience. I think all things considered that the medical model of "it's not a clinical issue unless it's causing problems in your life & harm to yourself or others" is a good enough way of approaching things.

I think a lot of people conflate having certain thoughts or feelings with having impulse control issues, and assume that people with certain thoughts or feelings must be incapable (or will inevitably fail at) exercising their free will in navigating those feelings. Which ironically can create a self-fulfilling cycle where people get scared or ashamed of their feelings and never practice relating to them in healthy ways, so they do feel out of control. And for people with impulse control issues, they deserve support and assistance in that.

I choose to believe and act as though everyone has inherent worth and dignity on an existential level, and that cannot be changed or destroyed. No kind of sexual desire makes someone less of a person, or less deserving of being taken seriously and compassionately as a person.

Harm, both doing and receiving it, is an inevitable part of life and we will never get rid of this. The best way to deal with the inevitability of harming and being harmed is to build and maintain practices that help is navigate healing those harms.

I guess my "opinion on paraphilias" is that to a large degree it's none of my business what goes on in other people's minds, that shame and the model of thoughtcrime does more harm than good to everyone, people should be allowed to engage in weird sex stuff alone or with others who are consenting without having to justify themselves to strangers. Sex stuff and relates issues can be scary and complicated but we have to be brave about it and come up with ways of navigating these issues that are best for everyone, holistically.

[yumenoberu]

She’s a Teaser

Kyoya Ootori x fem!reader

summary: It’s a regular Saturday afternoon in the Ootori estate. Y/n and Kyoya, the notorious Ouran Host Club’s very own managers, silently work on the club preparations. Worn out and fatigued after hours of endless calculations and composing, someone gets distracted by a curious scene from the corner of their eye…

word count: 700 words

warnings: none!!

published: 10/18/24

author’s note: my first published fic!! who cares if it’s assessment week its not like all my projects are due and i'm back tracking my tasks— hey! duty calls when ur mind decides to plague u with fluffy OHSHC brain rot yk!! and now, my doves, please enjoy ✨🥳

‘Sitting on the foot of his couch while crunching down an endless flow of numbers and letters till the sunset. Neither of us ever spoke a word, being simply content with the comfortable silence. This was our average weekend. ’

Such was the silent arrangement Y/n and Kyoya developed over time.

The click and clacking of computer buttons overrun the comfortable silence that rang through Kyoya’s living space. The two second-years alternate between buttons on their respective keyboards, typing up an almost rhythmic stream of characters for their shared digital accounting space. Although, for one of the teens in the room, Y/n couldn’t gauge what exactly she was writing—her mind was elsewhere.

The sun was setting on the horizon, painting the monochrome walls of the Ootori estate with contrasting radiant, warm hues. They’ve been working on a proposal for the next upcoming, unequivocally extravagant, Host Club event. Accounting for the lovable, yet ever-impulsive Host King’s whims always proved to be a task of considerable difficulty.

But nothing is impossible, no? Not for the Host Club! Why, their Shadow King irresistible charm is to blame!

Y/n’s grown quite accustomed to arranging for every outlandish fantasy the eternally flamboyant, capricious Ouran Host Club’s President desired to make a reality. But man could she never get used to how exhausting the process could be.

‘We’re gonna be here for another few hours aren’t we…’

She sighs out loud, rubbing a hand on her strained eyes as she looks up from the screen, straightening her back and stretching her arms up, but not without subconsciously stealing a glance at her ‘coworker’.

Kyoya was, as she anticipated, glued to his usual spot on the couch, posture impressively as straight as a knife even after hours of sitting in the same position, and was, similarly, typing away on his computer with tired eyes with an uncharacteristic brow arched, outwardly showing his irritation at whatever was on his screen.

‘The work’s starting to take a toll on him too huh,’ She almost chuckles to herself. There was something about the sight that was so amusing to her. Perhaps witnessing his usually unwavering prim and proper facade, peel off ever so slightly was, for the lack of a better word, endearing, to her.

‘What a look.’ She thought, a playful smirk inching its way up her lips. Opening her mouth to give a teasing remark on his state, she bites her tongue, rethinking her actions.

‘But then, it always seems like more trouble than it’s worth, annoying him.’

Her puckish gaze lingered even as she relaxed the rest of her body after her little stretch. She didn’t realize she was starting to stare—being much too preoccupied by the sudden train of thoughts that cascaded across her mind at the peculiar scene.

‘Nevertheless, he always seems like he’s in a bad mood around me, wonder what his deal is…’

‘Always so condescending and cynical, not a cute look Ootori, not a cute look.’ She teased. Though inwardly, of course, she wasn’t planning on dying just yet.

She internally contemplates for a while longer, exhaling aloud through her nose, exhausted from her own ramblings. Her work, completely abandoned.

‘He’d be annoyed if he sees I’m not working… Can’t the man relax for a bit, why's he always such a grouch. That's the Shadow King for you.’ At the notion, she unintentionally let her face contort into a playful scowl.

Her inner monologue continued on, her mind jumping through hoops of arbitrary thoughts, making all sorts of faces at her disses toward the boy.

To her knowledge, he was too focused on whatever he was doing to notice she was staring at him; however, ever so clueless to the reality of things, little did Y/n know that Kyoya had noticed since the beginning.

But he didn’t mind, not in the slightest. In fact, he finds it quite amusing, cute even. Because as he recalled, just moments before, while she still wasn’t looking at him, he was doing the same thing.

He almost smiles at the thought, nevertheless as stubborn as his nature is, he suppresses it.

Then, they simultaneously fondly think to themselves,

‘What goes on in that head of yours?’

masterlist

[yuansie]

ocean memories : why, then, did thy fall?

synopsis. desire is influenced by the impulsive need to have something in one's heart. desire is bad and it is dangerous—you learn this from the very being that was supposed to have a blessed bond with you, the being that was meant to protect you all.

pairing. rafayel x fem! non mc! reader

warnings. (implied) death, an argument somewhere in there, mentions of hatred, destruction (?), reader prays bc lemuria going through it oops 💔💔 if there is anything i'm missing, please let me know!

genres. angst

rating. pg-13

w/c. 2.1k

a/n. HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAYYYYYYYY this is my gift to you heh... not proofread. we die like them today I MEAN WHAT

YOU FOUND A HUMAN BOOK ON ONE OF YOUR IMPROMPTU VISITS TO THE SURFACE WHEN YOU WERE A TEENAGER, and it had described an interesting concept that fascinated you to no end: time for humans. to humans, time is precious for they don’t have a long lifespan. time can fly by fast for them before they know it. for lemuria, time goes by slowly. lemurians have longer lifespans, immortality making a day for a human seem like a hundred years to the ancient civilization.

yet time has flown by fast for you in these recent months.

perhaps it is because you do not speak to the god of tides anymore, or it is because of the appearance of his most devout follower.

when it was revealed that rafayel had taken a human to live in his temple, lemurians were baffled. you spoke to them in a calming voice, easing the worries that began to swim in their heads.

the attention the devout follower was receiving, the words being whispered about her, eventually reached rafayel. he appeared to them while you lead a prayer, revealing to them that she is his devout follower before leaving.

of course, you were left with the aftermath of a panicked lemuria, one that questioned the intentions of their god. you told them that it is a good thing, the appearance of the devout follower, for it means that he will soon be the sea god.

lemuria calms down, and you are left with a heavy heart.

“please, put the flowers at the base of the pillars,” you instruct, watching the lemurians helping you prepare the temple for the ceremony. “and have them go up and wrap around the pillars.”

“yes, divine priestess.”

you smile, glancing to your side. arabelle stands next to you, her attention elsewhere. you tuck her black hair behind her ear, making sure it won’t tangle itself with the string of the veil she wears around her mouth—the one you used to don when you were training to be the god of tides’ priestess. “what is on your mind?”

arabelle looks at you, her silver eyes hesitant. “…miss priestess.”

“yes?”

“why are you not with him? are you not his devout follower?”

are you not his devout follower? the words echo loudly in your head.

“…it is because i am his priestess,” you answer carefully. “i cannot be the devout follower for the ceremony for i am needed by both the temple and the people.”

a deep and vibrant blue taints her silver eyes, seeping into the irises until it is fully consumed. glowing, blue eyes stare into your widened ones.

“you are his most devout follower,” a voice rings out from arabelle’s throat, sounding like rafayel’s yet different. “you are the one with the most blessed bond with him, the only one chosen by the deep sea and sea god.”

you watch as silver slowly replaces the blue in her irises. arabelle frowns, “it should be you in the temple tomorrow, miss priestess.” she quickly waves her hands in a panicked manner, shaking her head. “not that i doubt the god of tides! it just makes more sense for you—” she stops, her gaze downcast as you chuckle.

“it is fine to have doubts,” you tell her, gently ruffling her hair. “just don’t let anyone hear of them.”

the bells ring, and you and the girl watch everyone inside the temple trickle out before the doors close. you hold out your hand, arabelle grabbing it, and lead her to the room you used to stay in when you were younger. your eyes rake around it, noting how it lost all of your quirks and now reflects arabelle’s personality. her desk is piled up with neatly stacked books and sea shells decorate her walls.

“you know where to find me if you need anything, right?” you ask by the door. arabelle nods as she takes off her veil, grinning at you. “then i wish you a goodnight.”

“goodnight, miss priestess!”

you make it down the hall before a familiar voice speaks up.

“i did not know that i appointed a new priestess.”

he emerges from the shadows of the corridor that leads to your room. you spare a glance at him before walking past him, merely letting out a huff. “is that so?”

the god of tides follows after you. “why did you not tell me?”

“i am busy,” you shrug. “after all, i have to prepare the temple and the citizens accordingly for the ceremony. it is only natural i take in a child in these… lively times.”

“but that child was not chosen by me.” there is exasperation in his tone, and it irks you. what is there for him to be annoyed at?

“did she have to?” you swivel around to face him and tilt your head to the side, your eyes slightly narrowed. “you are busy with… your own affairs, so it falls to me to make these decisions for the greater good of lemuria.”

dual toned eyes stare at you with a sort of emotion you can’t pinpoint. perhaps it is anger that swirls in his blue and pink irises. “you—”

“i do not have time for this,” you mutter, turning around and continuing your walk back to your room. “and neither do you.”

“but y/n—”

“priestess y/n,” you correct, stopping at the entrance of your room. you push the door open and pause, “it is priestess y/n, my lord.”

“my lord?” the god of tides repeats, baffled. “since when have you called me that? since when have we used titles?”

“i have realized that i have grown lenient,” you reply, taking a step into your room. with a deep breath, you continue, “you and i have grown lenient.”

“lenient?” he repeats. “why do you say that?”

“because a priestess should not be calling their god by first name. our relationship should not be what it is now.”

“what are you—”

you take another step inside, twisting around to face him. your heart pounds in your chest, painfully aching at the words you’ve uttered. yet, you do not back down. he chose this as soon as he brought forth the human as his devout follower, and you are finally drawing the line. you should’ve done it ages ago for your relationship was never supposed to grow to this extent.

there was always going to be a line separating the two of you, and you both chose to ignore it when you were younger. but you are older now, so you will finally address it.

“goodnight, my lord,” you say, slowly closing the door. “rest now, for the ceremony is tomorrow.”

there is a soft clicking sound the echoes quietly in the dark corridor as soon as the door closes.

there is a statue outside of the temple, one that the head of the village had commissioned to get done when you were a kid, of the god of tides. you kneel in front of it, eyes closed and your hands clasped tightly. you are tense and rigid, arabelle’s words repeating in your head like a broken record.

the sea god and his devout follower have gone to the surface.

you want to let out a bitter scoff, you want to roll your eyes to the back of your skull at his sheer audacity to do such a thing on this important day.

but you don’t.

you instead pray, but you don’t pray to the god of tides. no, you pray to the deep sea. you pray that today be blessed, that the ceremony would go smoothly.

there is a shift in the currents, the singing of the fishes of his arrival flows into your ears.

“the ceremony will begin now,” you mumble, eyes still closed. “go tell them. i will continue to pray.”

there is a shuffle next to you followed by running footsteps that soon fades away.

you sigh, shoulder slumping. let the ceremony go smoothly, you pray, give him the strength to do what must be done. you pray to the deep sea because you aren’t sure if he will do what has to be done.

a sudden chill falls on you like a blanket, making your eyes snap open. whalefall city is plunged in darkness, and the sea is silent until your ears pick up the panicked shouts of the lemurians. you rush into the city, finding everyone gathered at the bottom of the road that leads up to the temple.

“divine priestess! has the ceremony gone wrong?”

“what are we to do?”

“divine priestess, what is going on?”

“are we doomed?”

“my brethren,” you say softly, holding out an open hand. bright, blue swirls appear, rendering everyone silent. “you must stay calm. the ceremony is still ongoing. we—”

everyone screams and yells as the ground suddenly shakes, the sea growing violent as it sends currents everywhere.

“stay close to me!” you yell.

you’re about to fall onto the ground after another violent shake from the seafloor, yet the water holds you above the ground. the deep sea, despite its anger, is still looking after you.

but the same cannot be said for the rest.

much less for him.

because everyone gasps, their attention drawn to the crumbling sight of their beloved temple. your eyes are wide with shock.

the ceremony has—

the shaking stops and the sea is calm.

“miss priestess,” arabelle walks up to you, a slight tremble in her hands as she places it on your arm. “has the ceremony gone wrong?”

you don’t know what to say. “arabelle—”

“look!”

the sea god emerges from the rubble, holding onto a tiny flame that flickers dangerously so… the devout follower is nowhere in sight.

“the ceremony is a success!” someone shouts.

cheers erupt amongst the lemurians.

“the sea god is among us now!”

no, you think. he is not the sea god.

the ceremony was a failure, and he has doomed you all. it is just as the deep sea had told you: disaster.

the sea god disappeared, leaving whalefall city alone with the divine priestess of the deep sea. he has not appeared in many years, not even as the city plunges to the depths of the sea. he does not show his face when you help everyone evacuate the city, though you don’t go with them.

“must you stay here alone, miss priestess?”

arabelle now reaches your shoulders, having grown quite the bit over the years. you smile and ruffle her hair, “i must stay here and pray for everyone’s safety.”

“i can do that in your place!”

“you cannot,” you answer firmly. “as the divine priestess, i must stay here to pray in order to ensure everyone’s safety.” you sigh and grab arabelle’s shoulder, squeezing them softly. “arabelle, i chose you for a reason. you must lead them, help them build anew.”

the girl slowly nods. “i will do as you say, miss priestess.”

you smile wider, pushing her slightly towards the lemurians that wait for her. “go now.”

“miss priestess, will i… will i see you again?"

all you can do is continue to smile, “goodbye arabelle. may the deep sea protect you on this journey.”

you watch the lemurians leave their home until your eyes no longer can. that’s when you head to the ruins of the temple and watch with disdain at the crumbling statue of the person you used to love. you will the anger to go away, not wanting your last moments to be of hatred. no, you want your last moments to be filled with hope that the lemurians of whalefall city may build their new lives easily without trouble.

your eyes close when you start feel your tail grow lighter and how it travels up your body slowly. you mournfully sing goodbye to your people and to the sea you love so much, stopping to utter a final prayer to the deep sea.

“do not let me meet him again, oh deep sea,” you mumble. “i wish to not see him again.”

and then you’re gone, reduced to foam.

you’re gone and he heard you whisper your final words in the form of a prayer to the deep sea and not to him, making his chest feel like it is about to cave in.

you’re gone and he watched as you turned into sea foam, the color so alike to your hair that it makes him sick.

rafayel closes his eyes from where he is, letting out his final breath. what was the color of your hair before it had turned into the color sea-foam? he cannot remember.

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taglist (open). @bakutual @nadinefromwhere @justmystical @holywaterbucketchallenge @megufushi @bellslovemachine @roobiedoobiedoo @reiofsuns2001

OCEAN MEMORIES, yuansie 2025

[relgnira]

Hermit a Day May 10 - Gem

Gem is a rather prolific adventurer, having gotten her start as a solo treasure hunter as a young deerling. She had her nose in every dungeon and was associated with the Empires guild around the same time she found out about the Hermit guild and decided to partner up. Upon joining the Hermit guild she became friends with False, who she thought she recognized from the Empires guild. Weird, but Gem knows when to keep her mouth shut. After several months of working with the guild (and surviving a certain tower collapsing elsewhere in the region) she begins teaming up with people for the first time in any official capacity. Soup group is comprised of her, a strange little noibat named Pearl, and an outwardly menacing but inwardly goofy ursaring named Impulse. They become fast friends and, under Gem’s leadership, became a well-known exploration team in their area! Gem and Pearl enjoy having Impulse carry Gem’s teeny treasure bag :3

[furioussheepluminary]

𝐀𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭

Pairing: nerd!jisung x popular!afab!reader, secret friends, highschool!au, nonidol!au

Synopsis: it was just a tutoring class. Just. God, but the way he wanted you to be his...every time he saw you with the popular guys. He would make you know how much he needed you.

Warnings: secret friends because of reader's reputation, Jisung wants to be more, needy!jisung (I love me some of that), jealousy, severely suggestive, swearing

A/n: y'all should leave me alone I can't write smut so live with this 😭

The stuffed library was quiet for a Thursday afternoon, save for the occasional rustling of paper and muffled coughs. You sat in front of Jisung at one of the far tables, pen tapping against your notebook as he explained some theory in economics. The cost of production, was it? You really couldn’t care less about it. His voice was soft, a little shaky, and you know it had nothing to do with economics.

It was you. It was always you. you could tell by the way he would stare in every class, darting his eyes elsewhere while chewing the back of his pen when you caught onto him. When you walked past him and his weird friends at the cafeteria, you were certain one of them was ogling. When you had asked him to tutor you for the semester, he was impulsively acceptive. He came early to the locations, poured his heart out in the subjects you struggled with and always helped you do your assignments. Cute right? Yeah, but like, he wasn’t that important to you. And he knew unfortunately.

You glanced up from your paper, eyes narrowing at the way he kept fidgeting as he spoke. His pen hovered above his notebook, sketching a graph on something you couldn’t remember. Jisung smelled like faint chocolate and cedarwood, his hair falling over his glasses as he furrowed his brows. He was cute, cute, sweet and nerdy in a way your friends would never understand. They also never understood why you even talked to Jisung. He looked up at you.

“Did you understand me?” Your eyes met. You blinked blankly at then smiled. “No, baby I think you have to explain it to me one more time. I just love the sound of your voice honestly.” He blushed and looked down.

“You need to stop doing that.” He looked at his notebook, pushing his glasses back into position.

You pouted. “Stop doing what?”

“Lying.”

You were confused. Jisung would normally blush and play along with your stupid flirting. In fact, he would take them seriously. “You okay, Sungie?” you asked acting less concerned about his reaction. “Aren’t you meant to be giggling and blushing and all that?”

His jaw clenched, and for a second, you thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he turned to you eyes flickering with something raw and desperate that it made you straighten your posture.

“No,” he muttered, voice rough. “I’m not okay.”

Your brow furrowed. “Why? You not feeling well or something?”

Its not that. Oh, hell no it wasn’t. He was alive and well. Well enough to see you today dressed in his hair color, clothing that obviously wasn’t allowed as uniform. Well enough to drown himself in his perfume for you. Well enough rehearse his greetings and awful jokes to you four times in the mirror. He was so well he had enough strength to literally jack off to the thought of how your skirt rode up when you sat with your girls during lunch. But he couldn’t tell you how much of a pervert he’d been for you. That’s disgusting. He wanted to be a good boy. Your good boy. You had told him that the relationship between the two of you— if it ws even fit to be called a relationship, was strictly professional and secret. None of your friends had to know he was tutoring you. Oh, and how he hated being your secret. He didn’t want to be your secret anymore. And that? That was the problem.

“Look, Jisung,” you sighed, leaning back in your chair. “I get that this whole tutor-friend thing is confusing for you, but let’s not make it weird, okay? You here to teach and I’m here to learn.”

His hand clenched around his pen, knuckles whitening. You could see the tension radiating off him, and for a second, you wondered if you'd crossed a line.

"Weird?" Jisung repeated, voice low and taut. "You're the one making it weird.” Your brows furrowed. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He rolled his eyes and dropped the pen."It means I can't keep doing this." His voice cracked, frustration spilling into every syllable. "Sitting here, pretending I'm okay with being invisible to you outside this library—like I'm just your little nerdy helper while you go out there and let everyone else see the side of you I want.”

You want? Hold up, what?

"Jisung—”

"I like you," he cut you off, voice trembling. "I have for a long time, okay? But you don't care. You don’t even see me that way.”

Oh. Well you didn't expect him to be that blunt about it. But then again you weren't really surprised at his approach. You'd always known he had a thing for you. He always wore his heart on his sleeve. But you couldn't let it matter. C’mon you had a reputation to keep up. Imagine how the whole school would look at you if they found out you were dating Jisung.

"All I asked for was tutoring, Jisung. I didn't ask for this," you said coolly, folding your arms across your chest. "You're the one who keeps making it complicated.” His breath hitched, and for a second, you thought he'd back down. But then he leaned forward, voice low and rough with desperation.

"Yeah? Well, maybe I don’t care anymore."

The fire in his eyes made your stomach twist, a flicker of guilt gnawing at your insides. He looked different—less timid, more desperate. Like he was ready to snap.

“You don't care? You do realize my grades are on the line right? Don't push it, Jisung.” You spoke, your tone raising a bit.

A hint of regret flashed in his eyes. No no no. He's sorry, he does care. Really, he does.

But he has to prove his point now. He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "God, do you even realize what you do to me? The way you talk, the way you dress, how you look at me with that stupid smile when you want something... It drives me insane." His voice cracked, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a second, like he was trying to pull himself together.

You opened your mouth to respond, but he wasn’t done.

"And then you hang out with them." His voice softened, breaking into a raw whisper. "Those fucked up jocks who knows nothing about you. Guys who get to be seen with you. They touch your arm, laugh with you, and look at you like they own you." He swallowed hard, lips trembling. "And I’m just... here. Invisible. The guy you only call when you need help with homework.”

He saw you with them? You never took those boys seriously you'd just hang out with them.

“Jisung, it’s not like that—”

Don’t lie to me," he cut you off, eyes shimmering. "I know what I am to you. A secret. Someone who doesn't matter. But God, I wish I didn’t care." His voice shook as he leaned closer, his need palpable. "I wish I could stop thinking about how your skirt rides up when you sit, or how your perfume stays on my hoodie after we sit here for hours.”

You felt your face heat, heart racing at the bluntness of his confession. He's been looking at your skirt?

"And I hate it," he added desperately. "I hate that I want you this much, even when you make me feel like I’m nothing." His breath hitched. "But I still want you.”

Oh, fuck. None of the dudes you dated were ever this blunt. Or this cautious. The vulnerability in his voice made your defenses waver. You’d always liked the power you held over him—the way he was yours to command in this little bubble. But now? Now, it felt like that power was slipping through your fingers.

"Jisung..." you began, unsure of what to say.

He exhaled shakily. "Just tell me what to do," he whispered, voice raw with need. "You want me to stop tutoring you? Fine I'll stop. You want me to leave you alone? Heck, you won't even see me anymore. You want me to embarrass myself in front of the whole school? I'll do whatever you want if it means I can have a piece of you. Please."

The desperation in his words hung between you, suffocating and electric. And for the first time, you weren’t sure if you could keep pretending this was just tutoring. Jisung has always been harmless— cute, eager to please, a bit to obvious with his feelings. But this? This was raw, desperate and far too real. And it made you uncomfortable.

He was good for you.

“Jisung you need to understand the kind of lives we have, are different.”

Lies. Fucking lies.

He looked like you’d punched him in the gut. "So that’s it?" he asked quietly, voice cracking. "You don’t care? Not even a little?”

You bit your lip an squeezed your eyes. Man, fuck your reputation.

Jisung's face was flushed, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. His eyes glistened, filled with frustration and need that tugged at something deep inside you. You hated it—hated how he made you feel like you were losing control. But more than that, you hated the way your body reacted to his vulnerability. The way your pulse thrummed at the thought of wiping that hurt expression off his face in a way that words couldn't.

"Come with me," you whispered suddenly, grabbing his wrist.

"W-What?" he stammered, but you didn’t give him a chance to protest. You pulled him up from his chair, weaving through the rows of bookshelves until you found a secluded corner hidden from prying eyes.

"Y/N— What are you doing?!"

You shoved him back against the bookshelf, your breath hot and heavy. His eyes widened, shock flickering across his face.

"Destroying my reputation. Is this what you wanted?" you whispered, your voice low and daring. "Is this what you've been craving, Jisung?"

He swallowed hard, his lips parting as if to respond, but no sound came out. His silence only fueled you further.

"Answer me," you demanded, your body pressing against his. "Y-Yeah," he choked out, his voice breaking. "God, yeah."

You didn't wait. Your lips crashed against his, fierce and unapologetic. His gasp melted into a needy whimper as he clung to you, his hands trembling as they gripped your waist. The sweet taste of him mixed with desperation, and it ignited something reckless inside you. His glasses tilted awkwardly, and you pulled back just long enough to yank them off, tossing them onto the nearby shelf. "Better," you murmured against his lips before kissing him again.

Jisung whimpered, the sound raw and needy as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. His fingers dug into your hips, like he was afraid you'd pull away. But you weren't going anywhere—not right now.

"You drive me crazy," he whispered against your mouth, as you bit down on his lower lip. He shuddered, pressing harder against you. "I want you," he admitted breathlessly. "God, I want you so bad.” Your heart raced, his desperation feeding your own wild energy. His words melted any resolve you had left. You nipped at his lip, pulling a soft gasp from him, before you trailed kisses down his jawline.

“You really do like being my secret, huh?” You teased against his skin. “Only mine?”

He groaned, his voice thick with need “Yes. Please—just—” You chuckled breathlessly. “Yeah? Is this what you've been thinking about when your supposed to be tutoring me?”

His face flushed, but he didn't deny it. “Yes,” he admitted hoarsely. “Every damn time.”

The rawness in his voice ignited something in you. You silenced him with another kiss, not caring about the library, the rules, or what anyone would think if they saw you. Right now, there was only Jisung, entirety and desperately yours.

yay! Second one! I swear all your gonna get from me are heated moments and all. I can't write smut for the life of me 😭. Han's one of my wreckers so I see myself writing for him more.

Taglist:

@pixie-felix @pessimisticloather

If you'd like to be added you can drop your blog name in my asks!

~kc 💗

[ghsface]

WILDEST DREAMS... - spencer reid

Sumary: It was a one night thing

Warnings: smut 18+, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (Don't do it), and a little bit angst

Author's note: I was inspired a little by Wildest Dreams by Taylor Mother Swift bc in my head the song is written for Matthew Gray Gubler (I know it's not written for him but let me live in my fantasy). I also imagined Spencer in season 7 while I was writing this so keep that in mind, or just imagine it however you want, and I'm sorry if there are mistakes/misspelled words, my native language is not English.🩶

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚𖹭

The rain fell in curtains over the city, blurring the outlines of the buildings and silencing the usual bustle of the streets.

The lights of the cars reflected on the wet asphalt, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that seemed straight out of a dream.

You were in the usual cafeteria, trying to concentrate on your book, but your mind wandered to Spencer Reid.

From the first time you saw him, there was something about him that attracted you in an inexplicable way.

His eyes, full of knowledge and a subtle melancholy, his messy hair and that unique way of speaking.

You had shared several moments on the team, but none like the one that was about to happen.

The doorbell rang, and you looked up to see him enter, soaked and a little disheveled, but with that irresistible aura of mystery and intelligence.

Spencer saw you and a slight smile appeared on his face. He approached your table and sat in front of you.

“Sorry I was late,” he said, shaking the water out of his hair.

“Don’t worry.” You smiled at him, feeling a slight tickle in your stomach. There was something about the atmosphere that night, something electric that you couldn’t ignore.

They spent the next hour talking, sharing stories and laughter. Every time their hands accidentally brushed against each other, an electric current ran through your body.

The conversation flowed naturally, as always, but this time there was a palpable tension in the air.

As the coffee shop was about to close, Spencer suggested they walk a little to clear their minds.

You nodded and the two of you went out into the rain, not caring that you got wet. The conversation continued as you walked through the empty streets, but your thoughts were elsewhere, on what could happen if you let yourself get carried away by the impulse of the moment.

Finally, they arrived at Spencer’s house and he looked at you with those deep eyes and you knew he felt the same way too.

Without saying a word, you both walked in and headed to the elevator. The silence between you was intense, heavy with anticipation.

As you reached the apartment, Spencer opened the door and ushered you in first. The room was lit by a dim light, creating an intimate atmosphere.

He closed the door behind him and, without saying anything, approached you. You could feel his ragged breathing, his nervousness mixed with desire.

He took your face in his hands and kissed you with a softness that contrasted with the urgency of his movements.

His lips moved over yours, exploring, discovering, while his hands slid down your body, sending waves of pleasure through your skin.

The kiss became more intense, more desperate, as if they both knew that this moment was fleeting, a wild dream that would fade with the dawn.

You let yourself be carried away by the passion, by the feeling of his hands on your skin, by the taste of his lips. Spencer led you to the bed, his movements sure but full of a tenderness that disarmed you.

His hands slowly moved down your back, unbuttoning your blouse and sliding it off your shoulders.

His lips followed the same path, leaving a trail of burning kisses. You shuddered as you felt his hands unclasp your bra, freeing your breasts for his lips and tongue to eagerly explore.

His touch was a contrast of softness and firmness, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body.

You helped him remove his shirt and slide his pants off, eager to feel his skin against yours.

His hands ran over your curves, memorizing every inch, as his breathing grew heavier.

You bit your lip as you felt his erection press against you, increasing the anticipation.

He laid you back on the bed and positioned himself over you, his eyes locked on yours as his hand slid across your belly, slowly moving down until he reached your crotch. His fingers found your wetness, exploring you skillfully, drawing moans of pleasure from you.

You arched against him, wanting more, needing more. “Spencer, ple-please…” you whispered, your voice filled with longing.

With a look of absolute desire, he leaned down to kiss you deeply, while his fingers kept up their relentless rhythm. He brought you to the edge of climax, again and again, until you couldn’t take it anymore. Finally, he withdrew his fingers and positioned himself between your legs, his eyes searching for your approval.

You nodded, and in a slow but determined movement, he sank into you. You both let out a moan of pure pleasure in unison.

The feeling of being completely filled by him, combined with the intensity of his gaze, had you lost in a whirlwind of sensations.

Spencer began to move, slowly at first, savoring every moment.

But urgency soon took over both of you, and his thrusts became faster, deeper, taking you to the edge again and again.

Every bump of his hips against yours, every brush of his skin against yours, brought you closer to the edge.

“You’re amazing…” Spencer murmured, his voice cracking with effort.

Your nails dug into his back, marking his skin as the pleasure intensified. You felt your climax approaching, an overwhelming wave of ecstasy that you couldn’t stop.

With a gasp, you let yourself go, your body shaking beneath him as you reached the peak of pleasure.

Spencer followed soon after, his body tensing as he spilled himself inside you.

The world seemed to stop for a moment, leaving only the feeling of being together, of being one.

You stood there holding each other, breathing together, feeling the connection you had created. You knew this moment couldn’t last forever, that it was just a wild dream, but as long as you were in his arms, anything seemed possible.

Eventually, reality caught up with you, but the memory of that night was etched into your memory, like a wild dream you would always remember.

Spencer looked into your eyes and whispered, with a sad smile, “I’ll never forget this night.”

And you knew, deep down, that you wouldn’t either.

The next day, you found yourself in the office with Emily, JJ, and Penelope.

They were aware of your crush on Spencer and looked at you with curiosity and complicity in their eyes. “Well?” JJ asked, a playful smile on her face.

You blushed, remembering every detail of the night before. You took a sip of your coffee, trying to find the right words.

“It was… amazing.” You finally said, your eyes shining with the excitement of the memory.

Emily arched an eyebrow, interested. “How amazing?”

You sighed, knowing you couldn’t keep anything from them. “We kissed in the hotel room and… everything was so intense. His hands, his lips, everything. It was like time stood still.”

Penelope giggled and tapped you on the shoulder. “We knew Spencer had something special, but wow!” JJ leaned into you, his expression more serious. “And what happened next?”

You bit your lip, remembering the feeling of his body against yours, the way his thrusts brought you to the edge of ecstasy again and again.

“It was passionate, intense. I felt like every move of hers was bringing me closer to climax. I’d never experienced anything like that.”

Emily smiled, understanding. I’m glad it finally happened.

You nodded, feeling a mix of joy and nostalgia. “Yes, but I also know it was a fleeting moment. I don’t know what will happen now.”

Penelope gave you a comforting hug. “The important thing is that you lived that dream. Now, no matter what happens, you’ll always have that memory.”

The four of you were silent for a moment, sharing the intimacy of the moment. You felt grateful to have friends like them, who supported and understood you.

Finally, Emily broke the silence. “Well, whatever it is, you know we’re here for you.” JJ nodded, smiling. “Yes, and remember, Spencer is a complicated guy, but he’s also a good man. If this has a future, I’m sure you’ll figure it out together.”

You felt comforted by his words, knowing that no matter what happened, you wouldn't be alone. And as you remembered the intensity of the night before, you couldn't help but feel a spark of hope for what could happen now between Spencer and you.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚𖹭

your reblogs and replies are always appreciated dearly🫧

[dredgesnails]

stardew valley au where joel and skizz are new residents to pelican town (hermit town?). joel just inherited a large farm from his late grandfather and skizz is moving in with his old friend after reconnecting with him and wanting a fresh start. and the townspeople are like, kinda weird.

bdubs is fine enough - he’s a sweet man with a fun personality and he’s the local builder, but it’s almost frightening how fast he constructs new buildings when joel needs them. pearl, their resident postmaster, is also pretty normal other than the fact that skizz never seems to be awake early enough to catch her delivering mail. scar is lovely but he’s never available when joel wants another chicken. the mayor, xisuma, is pleasant too, if a little eccentric at times, but he doesn’t really seem to do much in town.

for the most part, skizz is settling in well. he’s moved in with impulse, who runs the local blacksmith in town, and he gets along well with most of the local townspeople. he’s started spending his evenings at the local saloon listening to ren regale the patrons with fantastical tales while he and stress serve up food and drinks, and he finds himself growing close with cleo, the local sculptor. he even gets a new wardrobe from hypno free of charge, and sometimes helps cub out with his totally scientific studies and creations.

skizz also joins forces with beef (who helps to supply the local general store that xb and keralis run) in terrorising the local manager of the corporate chain grocery store that no one likes. doc is a terrible manager but would make a fun supervillain (according to joe hills, the bookseller who appears once in a blue moon but seems to know doc more than anyone in town).

joel, on the other hand, seems to only be interacting with the strangest residents in town. he discovers the adventurer’s guild after only a couple weeks. false promises to give him prizes if he can kill enough monsters, which is not something joel had expected to be doing when he pictured farm life, but here he is. he stumbles upon a travelling cart one day, and the man inside insists he’s a knight from a faraway land, that he risked his life to make it all the way here to sell his wares. it’s all stuff joel can get cheaper elsewhere.

he’s pretty sure the local doctor has no real medical training, but then he passes out while fighting monsters and he wakes up completely fine, so zedaph probably knows what he’s doing. maybe. when joel isn’t passing out he sometimes makes trips to the library-slash-museum, which is probably almost completely empty because mumbo, who begs joel for anything to display, looks like he’s never fought a duggie in his life. eventually mumbo gives joel a key to the sewers, which are way cooler than they have any right to be, and that’s where he finds jevin’s secret sewer shop. jevin lives in town. he just also has a shop hidden underground. joel has stopped asking questions by now.

and then there are the three who live by the beach. etho spends most of his time tinkering around the fishing hut or hovering around bdubs, but sometimes he drives the bus to the desert. only sometimes. there might be something under his mask. no one knows for sure. gem runs the fish shop most days and she claims she’s a sailor, but joel has never seen a single working boat around despite all the ocean. she can also hold her breath underwater for an uncannily long amount of time, like, scarily so, and will sometimes disappear for a few days and return with an abundance of treasures. joel has never seen her leave by boat. grian fishes a lot and runs the shop when gem can’t, and he sometimes talks as though the sea can speak to him. skizz has caught him staring into space for extended periods of time. one time he waded into the water and just stood there, head down, muttering to himself.

apparently there used to be a lighthouse but “it’s gone now”. gem says if they ask bdubs nicely enough maybe they can build another one, but she and grian are banned from build requests after the last incident with their pet snails (joel has never seen the snails, but scar complains about them enough to convince him they’re real).

there also might be some kind of wizard who lives in the creepy tower in the woods. skizz has heard he’s the one who helps maintain the power in the valley, and joel’s convinced he hallucinated seeing him once until he recieves a letter from the wizard himself, and visits him only to find that the strange fire-creature he saw that one time was, in fact, tango, who is human for the most part, he just sets himself on fire sometimes.

[muletia]

𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐜𝐡 ✧˖°

[tfp] obsessed!optimus prime x human!reader

summary: optimus is uncertain about touch, fearing that he might hurt you, but with your help, he learns that touch does not have to be associated with fear

cw: mild angst, a sprinkle of fluff, soft!optimus <3

word count: 1400

Cyan optics flicker between you and the report on the datapad. Optimus reads a few sentences without distraction, absorbing the information about the amount of energon acquired and consumed this month with ease, fully capable of focusing for those few nanokliks. But a few sentences are his limit when you are nearby. His thoughts drift elsewhere, into soft, organic realms where they linger, tempting his optics to join them, to make daydreams a reality. And so they do, when the report becomes a dull memory, irritating him with its obligation, and reality becomes you — lying on your stomach on his desk, utterly engrossed in what must be a far more interesting book.

He wants to join you. To set the report aside and return to it later, once your presence is no longer a sweet distraction from his duties. Knows he has let himself slip. Once again, he wants to push work aside at the price of spending time with you, though he cannot afford indulgence. He has put it off for too long; must focus and win this battle against his own addiction. Duty — this is his current priority.

But he cannot look away, still captivated by the smallest movements of your body and its beauty. That is all he can do. Watch. That is enough. He allows himself to look for a few nanokliks, to temporarily satisfy the craving, and then return to what he must do, though he knows full well it is not enough. Optimus knows his own body, knows what it demands, pleading for physical contact with you. But reason advises otherwise, and reason prevails.

Too many dangers, too many unknowns. A fraction too much force, a single gram over the limit, and you cease to exist. You cannot die by his servo. He does not need to witness your death to know that his spark would extinguish at the very same moment. Must be cautious with you. Has learned that he may touch you when he must, but not when he wants, reducing the probability of catastrophe to a minimum. It will never be enough for him; will never be satisfied by necessity alone. But eons of being Prime have stripped him of whims and impulses and have taught him the meaning of true sacrifice. He only hoped that you understood.

Indirect touch is acceptable; that does not frighten him as much. His free servo moves above you, then lowers, forming a kind of shelter over you. It protects, it reminds, telling you that Optimus is with you and thinking of you constantly, yet it does not touch. That must be enough, he convinces himself, though it will never be. You will understand. Perhaps you will appreciate it if you wish to make him happy. But you will grasp that he cannot allow himself more, not out of lack of desire, but out of fear, though he longs unimaginably to feel your beauty, not only with his optics but beneath his own digits.

He does not deny himself the lightest graze against the edge of your foot or calf, but that is all. It is only about sending a signal: I am here. I am watching over you. Anything beyond that terrifies him because he does not know how much he can allow himself. How much force to apply before he breaks you. Yes, a mere brush is enough. He convinces himself. And he does not deserve more.

You lift your gaze from your book and meet Optimus’s optics. He offers you a subtle, endearing smile, an unspoken declaration that you have his full and undivided attention, even if you soon return to your reading.

But you do not. You warm his stoic spark instead, giving him an excellent reason to forget about the report.

"You can touch me if you want to," you break the silence.

You shift onto your side to look at him without straining your neck and place your open book to the side, marking the page with a bookmark. Propping your elbow on Optimus’s desk, you rest your head on your outstretched hand, settling into a comfortable position for the conversation you had been meaning to have with him—because, knowingly or not, he had touched upon a subject that had been weighing on your mind. And his, even more so.

"I apologize. It was not my intention to distract you."

"It’s okay, you didn’t distract me. And you can touch me. If you want to," you repeat, sending a smile his way that melts part of his spark.

He wants to. Longs to. Needs to.

But cannot.

"I fear harming you," he admits, incapable of lying when you look him straight in the optics.

"Is that why you hold back?"

"Yes," he sighs. "I have concerns that I may not be able to properly gauge my own strength. I do hope you understand my restraint regarding physical contact. I assure you, it is not your fault, my dearest."

"I understand. But you won’t hurt me," you reassure him. Yet he does not seem convinced, his optical ridges creasing slightly, uncertainty still visible in optics. "Okay, let me put it another way. Remember when I dropped my phone once? You picked it up between your fin— digits and there wasn’t a single crack. Not even a scratch! I know that from my perspective, you are unimaginably strong, but you can control your strength. You have precision. So I know that you won’t hurt me."

He processes your words in silence.

"I trust you, Optimus. More than anyone else."

That seems to break something in him. Not completely — not yet — but enough to try.

"Very well. If you truly grant me permission…"

"You may. Please." Just to emphasize that you desire this too.

You roll back onto your stomach, and his massive servo hovers above you, fighting hesitation. For a moment, you fear that you have pressured him into physical contact, pulling him out of a comfort zone he was not yet ready to leave, but your worries vanish when Optimus chooses to lower his servo, leaving the restraint on the surface.

His large digits envelop your back and remain there, servo holding still in one place. His touch is incredibly subtle and measured, but the hesitation remains. The fear he cannot yet overcome, even when faced with the exceptional softness of human skin, tempting to sink deeper, to explore everything you have to offer as a human. But he refuses to be enslaved by temptation when he is still on edge. Cannot harm you. He must be careful. That is enough; he dares not ask for more.

Optimus does not tremble with stress, no visible signs of anxiety appear on his frame, but the title of Prime binds him to outward composure in tense situations. Inside, chaos reigns. He sees no sign of discomfort on you, no grimace of pain, nor do you make any sounds that might suggest suffering, which should reassure him. But he cannot be at ease when worries churn in his processor. Am I pressing too hard? Pinning them down? He is grateful for your trust, but he cannot trust himself. Needs certainty that he is not about to kill you by accident.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Better than alright," you murmur. "Like someone wrapped me in a warm, giant weighted blanket."

"That is… a pleasant sensation?"

"Wonderful." You reach up, stroking the nearest digit. "It’s alright, Opti. You’re not hurting me."

"I trust you," he says, and you gift him a smile he cannot help but return.

"So? Do I feel nice to the touch?"

"You always do. Thank you for placing your trust in me." Because even though his fears still gnaw at him, for the first time, he does not ache for touch. Finally, he can stop wondering, stop dreaming about what he once thought were unattainable desires, and instead focus on the here and now. He reaches for the datapad and resumes reading the report, discovering how clear his processor has become now that his longing has found its grounding in your presence.

"Thank you for allowing yourself something nice for once," you reply and return to your book, wrapped in safety and warmth unmatched by any other source.